Nightmares
by michonneskatana
Summary: Dean x Reader. I was kidnapped, tortured and nearly killed at the hands of a demon. I thought I'd get over it and move on but I still jump at my own shadow and hate to be left alone for two minutes. But the nightmares...the nightmares are the worst. When one night I wake up screaming, Dean is there in a heartbeat to calm me down. One shot. T for language and torture sequences.
1. Part 1

**Author's Note:** Not mine, etc. but I'm not giving Dean back. Also, I really want Dean to call me babe. Like really. want. Please? Pleeeeeeeeeaaaaase?

**Summary:** I was barely hanging on when the Winchesters finally found me. Two weeks in the hands of a demon leaves you with little sanity left but Sam and Dean won't let me give up that easy. Dean x Reader. T for language and some torture sequences.

Nightmares - PART 1

The demon plunged the scalpel into my stomach again and my body shuddered in pain. I had long ago abandoned any attempts at keeping up a brave face. The ugly bastard saw I was hurting and that he was getting to me with every slice. I couldn't hide it anymore and whimpered as he drew the blade out, slowly, with an extra little twist at the end.

"Screw…you…" I said though it came out more like a sob and nowhere near as intimidating as I had intended.

The demon laughed. "Running out of juice, are we? But I'm not even close to being finished with you yet."

Hours had passed like this in a blood red haze of agony until I had to fight for every minute of consciousness. Part of me wanted to black out, to forget what this demon was doing to me, to skip out on the pain, but I couldn't, not if there was even a sliver of opportunity for freedom. The cuffs around my wrists were so tight that I'd lost all circulation to my fingers and wiggling out of them was impossible but it didn't stop me from trying over and over until my wrists were a bloody mess.

It didn't take long for me to lose track of how many days I had been stuck in this abandoned warehouse with the demon. With no windows to tell night from day combined with my fading in and out of consciousness, I grew disoriented fast. The only bit of information I managed to gather for certain was that we were far from any city or town, no people around to hear my cries for help.

The demon had taken the meatsuit of an average looking guy, maybe an accountant or other generic businessman, wearing crisp black slacks and a white button down shirt, the collar undone, the sleeves rolled up. He looked perfectly normal which made the fact that my blood coated his arms up to the elbow even more gruesome.

Sometimes the demon would stop, tilt his head to the side as if he heard something then vanish, literally, vanish. There one second and gone the next, leaving behind the faint rotten egg smell of sulfur floating on the air, a nasty reminder that he would return.

He didn't seem to have a purpose for me other than torture. For as long as he was able, he'd keep me alive, a little toy to play with, a mangled mouse to bat around at his leisure. He had dressed me in a white cotton shift that quickly became soaked red with blood, leaving me looking like a doll straight out of a horror movie. After cuffing my wrists, he had spread my arms wide, connected to chains on either side of the warehouse so I was completely vulnerable. I couldn't turn aside or deflect any of the blows he decided to hit me with, all I could do was wait it out and pray he stopped soon.

But the disturbing thing was that he seemed to feed off my pain. When he'd come back from wherever he disappeared to, he looked haggard, old, wisps of white in his hair. After a few hours of torturing me, he'd take a deep breath, straighten up to his full height and his face would be young again, his hair dark and sleek, his shoulders straight. He needed me…which meant I was going to be stuck with him for a long time.

"You know," the demon said, setting the tip of his scalpel against my cheek and applying just enough pressure for a thin line of blood to form little beads along the sharp steel edge. "It's been two weeks and those Winchester boys still haven't come for you."

I said nothing. A tiny nudge of doubt worked its way into my brain. I knew they would come, they had to but…why was it taking so long?

"I don't think they truly care about you," he teased, applying more pressure to the blade.

I bit my lip as he slowly dragged the scalpel through my skin, hot blood seeped down my cheek.

"When they come," I said with a shaky voice. "When they come, they are going to kick your ass so bad and I hope and pray to god that I'll be alive to see it."

The demon scowled at me. "You've got a foul mouth on you." He pulled back, leering down at me as I knelt on the floor. "They won't be coming, you should know that."

"Like I believe you, lying piece of crap."

The demon tapped the scalpel against his palm. "I called in some favors, set up a false trail that leads oh, three days' trip away from here, away from you. Just enough time for me to finish you off."

As hard as I tried to keep a straight face and not show the disappointment and fear that had rammed into my stomach like an iron fist, the demon saw it. He smiled, rolling his shoulders and tilting his head back as if he was facing the sun and soaking it up only he was soaking up my fear, feeding off of me.

"Ah yes, you do believe me," he said. "You believe me whole-heartedly. You've got a strong faith, I can feel it, oozing out of every pore. Let's see how much more I can make you believe."

He turned back to his table lined with various tools of torture, took his time rearranging things. For a few agonizing seconds, all I could hear was the clink of metal against metal, the rasp of something heavy sliding across the steel tabletop, the whir of an electric tool, probably a drill.

Then he turned around, trailing the worn, stained leather strap of a whip through his fingers.

[][][]

He was gone, finally, but I didn't think I'd be alive to see him when he came back. The only sound in the empty warehouse was my heavy, ratcheting breathing. I lasted to the count of ten before the tears started, the first time I had allowed myself to cry since the bastard kidnapped me…what did he say? Two weeks ago? So long…

A footstep echoed outside the warehouse door. I groaned. If the demon was back already or if he'd sent his friends to get in some of their kicks too, I couldn't take more. I tried to stay strong, I really did, but I couldn't hold on any longer. I just couldn't.

The door was flung wide and slammed against the wall. I didn't even raise my head to see who it was. If it was the demon with a gang of his friends…that wasn't the last thing I wanted to see before I died. I'd rather stare at the cement floor, flecked with my own blood…

Suddenly, two large hands were against my cheeks, gentle, raising my head.

"Come on, babe, talk to me."

I sobbed in relief at Dean's voice, at the warm, soft pressure of his hands against my face. I could just barely see him since my eyes were almost swollen shut. I felt the cuffs fall away from my wrists for the first time in two weeks. Slowly, every movement laced with agony, I leaned into Dean, my arms around his neck.

"I got you, it's okay," he whispered. I felt his arms come around me but stopped short of touching me. "God, there's blood…everywhere."

Dean finally set his hands against my back lightly but I still flinched.

"Sorry, sorry sweetheart, just...Sam, help me out."

Dean carefully pried one of my arms from his neck and Sam pulled Dean's coat off with one hand, a shotgun in the other, all the while on the alert, keeping an eye out. Dean tucked his coat around my shoulders. I shivered as the cloth touched my raw skin but Dean tightened his hold on me. "She's shaking pretty hard, Sam, we gotta get her outta here."

"The demon's still around," Sam said. "There's fresh blood on his knives. He's close."

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled. "I'll rip his lungs out. You're sure?"

"Positive."

"Then we get her to the car first, come back and deal with him," Dean said.

He slid one arm under my knees and the other arm around my back. When he started to pick me up, a fresh wave of pain washed over me and I screamed, my fingers twisted into Dean's t-shirt. He lowered me back down immediately but didn't let go. My breathing came in short, tight gasps against the pain that seized my rib cage, squeezing my lungs.

"I have to do this, babe," he said. "I have to move you, I'll make it quick."

I nodded, took a deep breath and tightened my grip on his shirt. When he lifted me up again, I buried my face in his shoulder and clawed at his back in an effort to keep quiet and hold on to the shred of consciousness I was barely maintaining. Every step Dean took caused more pain to jolt through my body. The Impala, wherever it was, seemed miles away. I felt myself slipping, my head tipping back as a black haze swarmed at the edges of my vision…

I heard the click of the door handle then felt Dean shift against me as he eased me into the backseat of the Impala. Dean brushed my hair away from my face and held my gaze as his hand came to rest against my cheek. His jaw clenched with concern as he leaned over me, one hand resting on the seat next to my hip. He pressed the cold barrel of the Colt into my palm.

"Take this," he said. "If that son of a bitch comes anywhere near you, don't hesitate to send him straight back to hell, got it?"

The gun felt far too heavy as I struggled to stay awake. I could barely lift it with both hands if I concentrated hard enough but it was something at least, something to fight back with. I was no longer tied up, helpless, at the whim of the demon.

"Got it?" Dean repeated.

"Yeah," I mumbled, pushing myself to sit up a little more, shaking my head to clear my mind of the fuzzy haze threatening to take me under.

Dean lingered for only a few seconds longer before he began to back out of the Impala. A stab of fear seized me again, tightening my throat and I reached for him in desperation, my fingernails digging into his forearm a little harsher than I had intended to.

"Please," I pleaded all the while hating myself for what I was saying. "Please don't…leave…" The last word came out in a pathetic little squeak.

He placed a hand on my ankle and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I'll be right here, I promise."

A gunshot shattered the stillness. Dean's head snapped up as he scanned the surrounding woods, the warehouse, and the barren, muddy dirt road.

"Sam?" he called.

No answer.

I gripped the pistol in my trembling hands, watching the trees, the bushes, waiting for the demon to show up at any second.

"SAM!" Dean roared again, his voice tense with concern.

"Go," I said, forcing the word out despite how much it terrified me. The last thing I wanted was to be left here, alone, barely conscious while a demon was on the loose, a demon who wanted to torture me and kill me but if Sam was hurt or, god forbid, the demon took him…I knew exactly what would happen to him and it wouldn't be pretty.

Dean took a quick glance over his shoulder at me, hesitant. I must have looked like a mess, covered in blood, bruised, but I was fighting, fighting so hard to keep it together for just a little while longer.

"GO!" I repeated but this time my voice was stronger and didn't have that annoying tremble to it. "Just get your ass back here fast so we can leave."

Dean took off running. I huddled in the backseat as pain pulsed through every muscle in my body and my heart hammered in my chest. This was what the demon had been waiting for I realized about five seconds too late. Get me alone, away from the Winchesters so he could tie up the last loose end…

A loud thump on the roof of the Impala made me jump. The high pitched, nerve-wracking whine of metal against metal dragged down the roof. Dean was going to be pissed as hell when he found that scratch. The demon poked his head down in front of the windshield, a hideous grin on his face. He waved a knife at me, still covered with blood. Was it Sam's blood? Dean's? _Mine?_

It didn't matter. He was coming for me. This was it.

Slowly, keeping the pistol behind the seat and out of his line of sight, I struggled with both hands to pull the hammer back. My fingers were still numb from the tight cuffs and my hands were slippery with sweat, dirt and blood. I wiped my palms on Dean's coat as the demon jumped to the ground and reached for the door.

"We meet again so soon, love," he purred.

I pushed myself as far back in the seat as I could as the demon began to crawl into the car, arm outstretched towards me.

"Back off," I growled, raising the pistol mere inches from his face.

The demon stopped and, I noticed with a small thrill, his eyes widened a fraction of an inch in surprise. "So the little mouse was given protection, how cute. You really shouldn't be allowed to play with such things, dear. You might hurt yourse…"

As the demon reached to take the gun from me, I planted a kick square in his chest despite the pain that seared through my body. He stumbled backwards out of the car and rage twisted his features. He started towards me again but I pulled the trigger.

The gun bucked in my hands and the bullet nicked his shoulder. The demon groaned, clutching his shoulder where a stain of blood blossomed across his crisp white shirt. I scrambled to pull the hammer back again and as I aimed to take another shot, two pairs of hands grabbed the demon by his shoulders and he was yanked backwards clear off his feet.

While Dean held the demon down by the neck, slipping in a few good punches, Sam started up the Latin incantation. The demon writhed, hissed and shuddered as black smoke poured from his mouth. I watched, impassive, while the demon suffered the way he had made me suffer for two weeks straight, hour after endless hour. The entire thing lasted less than a minute and then it was over, silent.

I slumped in the backseat, curling in on myself. The door opposite me opened again. Dean's voice drifted to me but I couldn't quite make out what he was saying. He sounded so far away, so distant, like he was at the end of a tunnel, a long, dark tunnel…


	2. Part 2

**Nightmares - PART 2**

The next time I woke, the white, sterile walls of a hospital surrounded me. I tried to sit up but stopped with a small gasp as pain shot through...everywhere. My arms, my ribs, my back, my head. Maybe moving wasn't going to happen anytime soon. I eased myself back and when I raised my arm to rearrange a particularly lumpy pillow, my hand brushed against something soft.

I glanced down to see Dean asleep, his head resting on his arms, half falling out of his chair. I skimmed my fingers along the sandpaper stubble of his cheek and through his hair. He jerked awake then looked up and smiled.

"Hey," he said, wrapping both of his hands around mine.

"Hi."

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been turned inside out," I croaked. "I want to go home."

After two weeks in that godforsaken warehouse staring at the bare, gray mildewed cement walls, watching my blood pool in macabre puddles on the floor, the idea of sleeping in a cheap motel or spending a couple nights at Bobby's sounded so good right now. The hospital was too open, too vulnerable. Even though the demon was gone, there were more out there. There were always more...

"I know," he said, brushing my hair away from my forehead. "I know you do but you have to stay here a little while longer, just to be safe. I'll be right here the whole time."

He leaned in closer and kept his focus on me, didn't fidget, didn't look anywhere else but at me as he combed his fingers lightly through my hair, skimmed his thumb across my cheek. My breathing began to even out and as the tension in my muscles melted away, I gave a small sigh of relief.

The second I closed my eyes, the curtain was pushed aside and a nurse stepped up to my bed. It was as if someone had snapped their fingers in front of my face, waking me up from a hypnotized dream. The calm feeling disappeared and the anxiety flooded back. Dean straightened in his chair but, thankfully, still held onto my hand.

The nurse flashed an overly bright smile. She wore hot pink scrubs so neon they probably glowed in the dark and a nametag that read, "Minnie."

"How are we doing today?" she chirped.

"Hurts," I grunted.

"Well, let's see what we can do about that," she said. "I'm just going to take a quick blood sample to make sure everything's hunky-dory and then I'll up your morphine dose."

Minnie busied herself at the small table next to my bed and I felt the tension building between my shoulders again, tightening my whole body like a rubber band about to snap. I looked at Dean who seemed a little distracted by the nurse…of course. I tugged on his hand.

"Will you stay?" I whispered.

He pulled his attention away from Minnie. "I'm not going anywhere, babe."

Whether he stayed for the nurse or for me, I didn't care. As long as I wasn't alone...here...

I glanced over at Minnie just as she pulled out a clean needle along with a handful of gauze pads from her pocket. I looked away again quickly when I saw the needle. In a heartbeat, I was back in that warehouse, drowning in a sea of pain, the demon coming towards me with a needle the size of a small skewer….

"No," I said, surprising myself at how loud and firm I sounded when only minutes before I could hardly speak for how raw my throat felt.

"What was that, honey?" she asked, placing a hand on my shoulder. The needle drifted into my line of vision again and I closed my eyes, leaning away.

"No," I repeated. "No needles."

Dean squeezed my hand. "Babe, what's wrong? You've never had a problem with needles before."

I shook my head, my throat closed up tight with terror. Any minute, I felt like I would lose control and fall apart, like I'd dissolve into a hysterical mess of tears and screaming if that needle came even one inch closer to my skin.

"No. needles." I said through gritted teeth.

The nurse eyed me warily. "Alright, no needles then. Let me just go talk to the head nurse. I'll be back in a minute."

Once the nurse was out of the room, I grabbed Dean's shoulder and tried to pull myself up.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on, what are you doing?"

"I'm leaving."

"No, you're not," he said, pushing me gently back down. "You're not going anywhere. You can barely move as it is."

"Dean, I am not staying here another minute. That nurse will come back with some buff guy to hold me down and ram that needle into my skin and I am not…"

My voice broke and tears of panic welled up but I fought to keep them at bay. I had to stay calm otherwise I'd never make it out of here. I had to prove that I was perfectly sane and ready to leave. Right now.

Dean frowned. "That bad, huh?"

Despite my efforts to stay composed, a tiny sob slipped out. "Oh god yes, Dean, please, get me out of here."

I sucked in a startled breath as the curtain was pushed aside again. If they so much as touched me with that needle…

Sam stood there, a Styrofoam cup of coffee in each hand. He brightened at the sight of me sitting up then his smile faded to concern.

"What's going on?"

Dean looked at me and I nodded. "We're taking her home."

"What!? But she hasn't been here a day. Dean, it's not a good idea…"

"Yeah, well, she'll feel better after a good night's sleep in her own bed. Can you run out to the car and get a change of clothes for her real fast?"

"I really don't think…"

"Now, Sam," Dean said.

Sam cast a skeptical glance between the two of us, his lips pressed into a thin disapproving line but he left without another word. Dean set to work unhooking the various tabs and machines strapped to my body. When he came to the morphine drip already imbedded in my arm, he hesitated, his hands hovering just above the needle. He shot me a concerned look.

"Just do it quick," I said, turning away.

His fingers settled on my arm and I curled a pillow around my face, biting down to keep quiet as he slid the needle out of my skin. I whimpered but managed to keep from losing it completely.

"Got it," he said. "I got it, it's done."

The curtain was yanked aside again and I straightened up a little, expecting to see Sam only to find, just as I had predicted, two muscle-bound nurses and the deceptively chipper nurse from earlier.

"Now this won't hurt a bit," she said.

"Like hell it won't," I said. "Don't touch me. I'm signing myself out."

"We really just need a blood sample to make sure…"

"NO!"

The two male nurses came up on either side of my bed. One of them reached for my ankles, the other started for my shoulders. Dean shoved him in the chest and he backed up.

"She said no."

"Sir, we're going to have to ask you to leave," Minnie said.

"That's fine," Dean replied as he took my hand and eased me into a sitting position. "But she's coming with me."

I swayed for a moment, blinking against the rush of pain that surged through my body. They would never allow me to leave if I let on how much it hurt so I bit the inside of my cheek until the bitter taste of blood filled my mouth.

"Call security," Minnie muttered to one of the nurses.

I slid off the bed and wobbled to my feet. Dean wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me so tightly to his side that he held me up and I didn't have to support any of my own weight,

"We'll be going now," he said.

"I would strongly advise against that," Minnie called after us.

Dean hurried me out of the hospital as fast as he could. Sam met us at the door, a wad of clothes in one hand.

"Took too long, Sammy," Dean said. "Let's go."

"Am I missing something? Why the rush?"

"Because hospital security is about to nab our asses if we don't hightail it out of here," Dean said over his shoulder.

Once we got to the Impala, Dean lowered me inside. He grabbed his coat from the duffel at my feet and draped it over my lap. "You okay?" he asked with a light touch to my cheek. "Lookin' a little pale there, kiddo."

I gave a weak nod, the best effort I could do at the moment. "Tired."

"Let's get you home," he said.

I wriggled deeper into Dean's coat and watched the hospital grow smaller and smaller as Dean drove away.

[][][]

Sam and Dean took me straight to Bobby's where I was given my own room. Dean piled pillows and blankets around me in a soft nest and I didn't move for about three days. Sam would occasionally try to coax me out with food, what little I could eat anyway, eggs, yogurt and milkshakes. But, like a timid little creature afraid of its own shadow, I would poke my head out, take the food and burrow under the blankets again.

The boys did their best to keep me entertained, keep my mind off my aching body and spend as much time around me as they possibly could, making sure someone was always with me, keeping me company, watching me. Sam provided books - anything from comics to sci-fi novels – and occasionally, if my swollen eyes were too tired, he would stretch out on the bed next to me and read aloud until I fell asleep.

Dean provided movies and TV shows. I soon realized that despite all his tough talk about action movies being the only movies worth watching, he become strangely obsessive over soap operas which, I'll admit, did make me laugh…but only a little since pretty much everything still hurt. A lot.

Sam attempted several times to get me to talk about what happened but that was the last thing I wanted to do. I was trying to forget it, to push it to some cobwebby corner of my mind so I could sleep through the night and not wake up in a cold sweat, thinking the demon was after me. Talking about it only made it stay fresh and brand new and equally as terrifying as when I was face to face with the demon.

Dean understood that. He didn't push but I could see the concern in his eyes when he looked at me. It was little wonder. I wasn't a pretty sight. Sometime during the second or third day at Bobby's, I had managed to hobble my way to the bathroom on my own in the middle of the night. It was the first thing I had been able to do unassisted since I'd arrived at Bobby's but my reward was a very sore reminder of why I didn't move much. When I looked in the mirror, I grimaced. One side of my face was covered entirely in a purple bruise which explained why it was painful to eat anything other than the soft foods I'd been living on, and one eye was still swollen shut completely. A livid red scar stretched from my right ear to the right corner of my mouth and I knew it wouldn't be fading any time soon. My ribs were plastered with about half a dozen cuts and too many bruises of varying shades of yellow, green, blue and purple.

Slowly, dreading what I would see, I turned around and worked the hem of my shirt up to get a look at my back. Deep purple whip lashes crisscrossed over my skin, some of them stitched up, others padded with gauze. I was a mess, both physically and emotionally. What that demon had done to me would always be a part of me now. I would forever be a living, breathing reminder of how evil these suckers were. With that realization in mind, I left the bathroom and decided to steer clear of mirrors for a while.

But the nights, they were the worst. Like a little girl afraid of the monsters in her closet, I begged for the bathroom light to be left on across the hall so I didn't have to face the darkness that threatened to swallow me whole. Imaginary demons resided in every shady corner of my room, leering at me, tools of torture in hand from bloody saws to needles to whips still dripping red splotches on the floor. When I did finally fall asleep in a restless doze, I always kept my fingers wrapped around the knife under my pillow, ready to strike at the first thing that dared to try and kidnap me again.

A little over a week into my stay at Bobby's, I woke up screaming.


	3. Part 3

**Nightmares - PART 3**

A week into my stay at Bobby's, I woke up screaming. I screamed until my throat was raw. The knife clutched in my hand was my only defense and the demon was coming for me. He was hunting me like a cat stalks a mouse, merciless, relentless, laughing all the while and he wouldn't stop until I was dead but I wasn't going down without a fight.

"Babe, wake up. Wake up, come on, look at me."

Gradually, Dean's face came into focus. The faint light from the bathroom cast half of his profile in darkness, the other half in a soft, golden glow. He held my face in his hands as he knelt on my bed in front of me.

"Let go of the knife," he said gently.

I shook my head. "No…"

"Yes, it's okay, I'm right here. Just let go."

Dean's hand drifted down my arm, past my wrist and settled over my fingers on the knife's hilt. I held on for a beat, then two, then uncurled my fingers. Dean slipped the knife away from me, held it at arm's length and I caught a glimpse of Sam's shadow as he stepped forward and slid the knife out of Dean's grasp. He melted back into the darkness again, disappeared.

Dean never took his eyes off of me the whole time. "It was a bad dream, sweetheart, nothing more. Demon's gone, you're at Bobby's, plenty of wards."

"But there's more," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "There's always more."

"I know and I won't let them get you, okay?"

I nodded but the unease that had settled in my chest still felt like it was suffocating me. "I can't…I'm…so scared…all the time now," I choked out as tears slid down my cheeks. "I hate it."

Without a word, Dean's hand gently cupped the back of my neck and he pulled me into his chest. I wrapped my arms around him, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I cried hard despite each sob sending fresh stabs of white hot pain through my body. I cried until I had nothing left and my rattling breathing turned into little hiccups. I hated for anyone to see me cry, especially Sam and Dean. Ever since Dean had brought me to Bobby's, I'd been trying to hold it together and put on a brave front despite the fact that I jumped at practically every little noise but I had finally reached my breaking point. The nightmares were getting worse. I hadn't slept the whole night through since getting away from the demon and it was wearing on me, leaving me exhausted during the day.

I don't know how long I stayed there, tucked against Dean's shoulder, his chin resting on top of my head but even after I stopped crying, he didn't let go. Though he hadn't admitted it, I'd seen the terror in his eyes when he first found me in that warehouse, barely alive, carved, whipped, sliced, bleeding out…

"You should probably get back to bed, try to sleep," I said, slightly muffled against his shoulder.

"Probably," he agreed.

Neither of us moved. For the first time in a long time, the suffocating fear was starting to ease and I could breathe again. During the past few days, Sam, Dean and Bobby had done everything they possibly could to ensure that I felt safe but I hadn't let them get close, not like this. I wanted to prove that I was doing fine, that I could hold my own…except they knew I wasn't doing very well in that department.

Dean shifted slightly so he could lean against the headboard of my bed. He rested one hand against my head and swept my hair away from my shoulder. "You're not shaking anymore."

"It helps knowing someone else is around," I said. "As soon as I'm alone, especially in the dark, it's like I'm right back…there."

Dean tightened his hold on me a little and I squeezed my eyes shut against the memories.

"I have to ask something," he said after a minute or two, "and I need an honest answer."

I nodded against his shoulder.

"Do you want me to stay?"

Silence. "Yes" sprang immediately to the tip of my tongue but I had stopped it at the last second. It would sound too needy and I knew it. Having Dean rush in and wake me up from my nightmares – more than once – was bad enough. I wanted to handle things by myself again, like I used to, before that damn demon took me. I wanted to be able to sleep in my own room by myself for just one night without getting scared and I couldn't even do that.

"I'll sleep on the floor, give you space," Dean offered. When I still didn't respond, he stopped. "You know what, never mind, shouldn't have even mentioned it. Forget it."

"Just…for tonight," I said at last.

"Are you…was that a yes? You want me to stay?" He tipped my chin up to look me in the eyes.

"Yes, I want you to stay," I said softly. "But not on the floor. I feel awful that you have to babysit me, I'd feel even worse if you slept on the floor."

Dean pushed me away from him gently, his hands on my shoulders. "Do you think that's what this is? That I'm babysitting you?

"Dean, I have to sleep with the bathroom light on because I'm afraid of the damn dark! What else would you call it?"

"Damn straight you should be afraid of the dark. You've seen what things live out there."

"You know what I mean."

"Fine," he grumbled. He stalked across the hall and flipped off the light. I stiffened and my eyes went wide as if I could see better that way. I could just make out Dean's silhouette, a smudge of black against the inkier darkness, as he shuffled back into my room, patting his way with one hand along the edge of my bed.

"Now," he said. "As I was saying…"

I grabbed his hand and practically yanked him back on the bed. Despite my frustration and anger at him for turning off the light, my fear was stronger. My fingers gripped his forearms as if he was the only thing keeping me grounded, keeping me from slipping over the edge and losing it completely.

"You're shaking again," he said in a heavy voice.

"Because you turned off the stupid light, why did you do that?" Even to my own ears, I sounded right on the brink of hysteria.

His hand came up and cupped my cheek, his thumb brushed along my jaw. "Because you don't need a babysitter and I wanted to make sure you understood that."

"Okay I get it, now would you please turn the light back on?"

"No."

"Dean…" I pleaded.

"Babe, this fear you feel right now, it's normal. You were tortured at the hands of a demon for two whole weeks. You were lucky to get out alive but you're acting like you should be able to forget it in the blink of an eye and move on. It takes time."

My chest felt tight and the familiar burn of tears had returned. I bit my lip and gripped fistfuls of my bed sheets, rolling them tight around my knuckles. The last crying session had been really painful and left me feeling more exhausted than a restless night of bad dreams. I didn't want to go through that again.

Dean slid his other hand up along my jawline and kissed my forehead then my cheek then lightly, barely brushed a very gentle, very careful kiss against my lips. "You don't have to be brave for me or Sam or anyone," he said. "You already are."

Dean tugged a blanket up, pulled it over my shoulders and I leaned into him as he laid back against the pillows. His hand came to settle on my hip and I rested my head against his chest as I listened to the steady, calming rhythm of his heartbeat. The fear pulsing through my body gradually began to seep away and my eyes drifted closed.

The next morning, I found myself draped over Dean, my legs tangled with his, my arm resting across his middle, my forehead tucked in the hollow of his neck and shoulder while his breath ruffled my hair. Slowly so as not to wake him, I tried to move over but my body was stiff and it had been a while since I'd had any painkillers. A tiny gasp escaped my lips and Dean blinked awake, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes, his mussed hair sticking up in every direction.

"You slept through the night," he said, his voice still raspy and gruff with sleep.

I gave up on trying to move and eased myself back down against Dean, relieved at the realization that he was right. No nightmares, no bathroom light, no fear.

"Guess we'll have to keep doing the sleepover thing," he said with a grin.

"In your dreams, Winchester."

Sam's voice drifted from downstairs. "Bobby, have you seen Dean?"

Dean groaned and let his head drop back on the pillows. "Dude, your timing sucks."

I slowly rolled to the side as Dean untangled himself from me and headed for the door. He paused at the threshold and glanced back at me.

"You okay?"

I considered it for a moment. I'd slept the whole night through for the first time in weeks. My chest didn't feel like it was in a vise grip of fear, squeezing the air from my lungs. There was still a long ways to go and maybe I might never see normal again, I might always jump at shadows and be terrified of the dark but for now, it was a start in the right direction.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm okay."

Once Dean had left, I stayed in bed for about thirty seconds before I became restless and had to move. I never slept past noon before let alone stayed in bed for over a week. Especially considering my earlier triumph, I felt good, confident I could conquer more.

I eased myself out of bed and into a fresh t-shirt and a pair of shorts. I had learned the hard way that my clothes were no easy task to get into. Anything that was my size rubbed and chafed against bruises or sat just a little too snug on bandages and stitches so Sam had given me a few of Dean's old shirts. The worn, soft fabric still smelled faintly of Dean – sweet cinnamon, tangy beer, spicy aftershave - and hung loose and far more comfortable against my sore skin. I had no intention of giving them back...but Dean didn't know that yet.

I inched my way down the stairs, thrilled that I had made it this far without feeling entirely spent. I stopped at the sound of Sam and Dean's voices in the kitchen.

"Don't tease her about it," Dean said in a firm tone.

"I thought you said nothing happened," Sam replied.

"Nothing did. She was out cold in two minutes. She was exhausted. Leave her alone about it, Sammy, I swear."

"Okay, fine, whatever, I wasn't going to say anything anyway. Look, I don't care what the two of you do…"

"Sam," Dean snapped. Something was set on a countertop or table with an impatient bang. "Last night was the first time she didn't wake up screaming, terrified because of what that demon did to her. I couldn't stop the son of a bitch from taking her but I sure as hell will do whatever it takes to help her sleep at night. She wasn't scared, Sammy, for the first time since we got her out of there, she wasn't scared. It was like a little glimpse of the girl we used to know was back, just for a second. So don't…don't tease her about it, alright?"

At that moment, Sam crossed the kitchen and caught sight of me standing on the stairs.

"Hey," he said. "You're up and…moving, wow. That's good to see."

A chair scraped on the hardwood floor and Dean was at Sam's side, a surprised look on his face.

"I was hoping I could have breakfast with you guys," I said.

Sam and Dean came up on either side of me and took my hands, guiding me down the remaining steps and into the kitchen. They didn't rush my crawling pace but stayed right with me as I crept along.

"Can't think of many people who would opt out of breakfast in bed," Sam said.

"Don't get me wrong," I said as Sam and Dean lowered me into a chair at the kitchen table. "I appreciated every second of it but I'm ready to get out of my room for as long as I can today."

"What are you hungry for?" Dean said, pulling open the refrigerator. "Eggs? Think you can manage some sausage maybe? Last I checked, they were a little rough to…."

He stopped. I glanced at him, wondering why he had dropped off mid-sentence but he stayed half hidden by the refrigerator door, seeming to find plenty to keep him occupied and not meet my gaze. In all this time, Sam and Dean had been very careful not to mention how crappy I looked, always tiptoeing around the subject. Stupidly simple things became frustrating beyond belief. Drinking from a cup was a challenge in itself because of my swollen face. I couldn't even get the meds out of their ridiculous plastic bottle with the damn safety cap that became a thousand times more complicated since my fingers were stiff or wrapped up in splints. Every time I needed painkillers, I had to ask Sam or Dean to open the bottle for me which got really old really fast.

"That sounds great, actually," I said. "I'm also dying for a piece of toast."

Dean popped his head up out of the refrigerator, a tentative gleam of hope in his eyes. "Comin' right up."

"Bobby's in the yard," Sam said. "I'll go get him, see if he's hungry."

As Sam walked out the front door, Dean turned on the stove and cracked a few eggs into a pan. I slid off my chair, hobbled across the room and slipped my arms around Dean's waist from behind.

"I don't care if Sam teases me about what happened last night," I said.

Dean turned slightly. "You heard all that?"

"Some of it."

"Yeah well," he turned back to the pan. "I do care. If he does say anything, you have permission to knock his pretty teeth out."

"I would never do that."

"Then I'll do it for you."

I pressed my cheek against his back, between his shoulder blades. He placed one hand over my hands and I laced my fingers in with his.

"It's not your fault," I said.

Dean went rigid and didn't reply. I squeezed his hand.

"You can't stop every bad thing that's going to happen to me."

"I can sure as hell try," he muttered. "Shouldn't have left you at the hotel by yourself in the first place."

"So you're going to stay at my side 24/7 now? Because I can foresee some serious problems with that plan."

"If that's what it takes, then yes. You scared the hell out of me. You stopped breathing, babe, for god's sake, you weren't breathing and I didn't know what to do."

I didn't say anything. I knew I'd been in bad shape when Sam and Dean found me, I just never realized how close I had come to not making it out of there. Dean scraped the eggs around in the pan with a vengeance and didn't look at me. I reached up and gently tipped his face towards me.

"I'm alive, Dean," I said. "What happened wasn't your fault in any way. And don't," I put one finger against his lips to keep him from arguing. "Don't do the "should have, could have, would have" thing. You'll drive yourself crazy if you keep that up. I'm alive and I have you and Sam to thank for that."

He looked away and raised one shoulder in a half shrug. "Still gonna keep a close eye on you."

"If it makes your job any easier," I said. "I wouldn't mind another sleepover."

I was so glad that I was behind him and he couldn't see the blush that rushed up my neck and blossomed bright red across my face that I could in no way keep under control.

"Thought you said it was a one night only deal," he replied.

"Maybe I changed my mind."

"Light on or off?"

"Definitely off."

He was quiet for a second or two, pushing the eggs around in the pan. Setting the spatula aside, he turned to fully face me this time, his hands resting easily, lightly on my hips.

"Did you change your mind because of the nightmares?" he asked.

"No."

He raised his eyebrows a little. "Something else?"

"Maybe."

He ducked his head, that mischievous grin reappearing then he froze and tugged on the hem of my shirt.

"Wait a second. Van Halen…isn't this mine?"

"Not anymore. Sam said I could borrow it."

"_Sam _said? What was wrong with one of his shirts?"

"I don't know but I'm afraid you're not getting this one back."

"Oh really?"

"Nope, I love it too much. Classic rock t-shirt and the black eye, kinda makes me feel hardcore."

The indignation melted from his expression instantly and he tilted his head to the side, considering me. "I could get used to the rocker chick look, minus the black eye though. So would you happen to know where my AC/DC shirt disappeared to?"

I fiddled with his collar absently, smoothing out wrinkles that weren't there, concentrating very hard on not meeting his gaze. "I think I might have an idea as to its whereabouts, yes."

"I'm not getting that one back either, am I?"

I giggled then quickly bit my lip. "Probably not."

"Those are two of my favorite shirts, you know."

My fingers fell still and I finally dragged my gaze up to his face. "I was just teasing, I'll give…"

He traced his thumb down my lips and the words died in my throat.

"Keep them," he said quietly. "But you'll have to pay up."

Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. He leaned down as he pulled me closer and pressed the lightest kiss to my lips.

"You've got yourself a deal," I said.

I realized he was still being overly careful around me as if I was a glass bubble that would pop and shatter into a million tiny pieces. I took one of his hands away from my hip and moved it to rest against my back, an area he had been diligently avoiding. The pressure of his hand against my still tender scars felt uncomfortable at first but I refused to squirm away. The pain would be there all the time and it was far more bearable with Dean around than on my own.

"I'm not going to break, Dean," I said.

"I just…I don't want to hurt you."

"I know," I said. I placed my hands on his arms and looked him directly in the eye. "And you won't."

He hesitated for a moment, frowning slightly as he thought about it, deciding whether I was faking it for his sake or if I was being serious. Then his fingers knotted into the hem of my shirt – his shirt – as he kissed me again. His hesitation disappeared when his tongue skimmed across my lower lip. I had to stand on tiptoe to reach him but the effort was draining on my sore muscles and I leaned against him until my body was pressed flush against his, partly for support, partly because he was warm and solid and _hot damn_ did he feel good.

The front door slammed shut and Sam and Bobby traipsed into the kitchen. I squeaked in surprise then winced.

"Your eggs are burnin'" Bobby pointed out.

"Looks like a whole lot of nothing is going on in this kitchen," Sam said with a pointed glance at Dean.

"Yeah, I can see that," Dean said, directing a glare at Sam. He pulled away, started to turn back to the stove then stopped and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, brushing his knuckles across my cheek. "Pick this up again later?"

"I'd be disappointed if we didn't," I said.

He reached for me again, wrapping an arm around my shoulder as he kissed my forehead. I curled in against his side.

"It's good to have you back, babe."

**A/N: I never wanted this fic to end! *sobs* But I hope you guys really enjoyed it and can now have lovely dreams of Dean calling you babe after rescuing you from a maniacal demon torturer. Ahhhh good times.  
A virtual plate of hot fresh brownies for anyone who reviews *winkwink***


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